Bon
by Victoria Quynn
Summary: An old man offers the boys unusual work in another dry, dusty backwater.


Bon

Just another day in another town in the life of Hannibal Heyes and Jed "Kid" Curry, the most successful outlaws in the history of the West – now ex-outlaws attempting to go straight. Many of their contemporaries in crime rotted in jail, or in at least one unfortunate's case, was assassinated by his own men for the reward money. These two, now christened with aliases Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones, respectively, sought amnesty from the Governor of Wyoming Territory through a former partner in crime, now respected sheriff. However, renown in notorious circles only went so far at the get-go. Although granted provisional amnesty by the head of the territory, the duo still had prices on their heads, and wanted posters reminded them, or anyone who cared to attempt to collect, of that very fact. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money at any time in the national history, far eclipsing the mere fifteen thousand that tempted the Ford brothers.

As our tale began, the partners found themselves in yet another town needing a coat of paint in another dry, dusty corner of the West – Wild, or not. Just in from the trail, as broke and dirty as the leaden grey, rotting wooden shingles on the buildings in this burg, the two wondered if they would ever again, or at least anytime soon, have between them more than a few bits with which to bed down, themselves and their mounts, eat more than jerky and biscuits, or afford more than the cheap rot gut found in most establishments calling themselves saloons in these pieces of dry, dusty backwater (of course, mostly minus the water).

Now, luck would have it this day that the boys ran into one Bon Hedley at the saloon. Taking note of their dry, dusty, down-on-their-luck appearances, suitable to put them right at home in this place much too small to call itself a municipality, the old man approached. After small talk, he sped right to the point. These young whippersnappers, as he called them, looked like they could use a job, especially with the depression and all, and he had one. He would pay them ten dollars apiece to help him dig a little deeper in his well. Dirty work, yes. Backbreaking work, definitely. But work, nonetheless. The boys adjourned to a corner to talk it over. Not normally liking dirty, backbreaking work, they did not cotton to it initially, but finally decided to give it a go. After all, they were filthy from the trail, and could not afford a bath; hungry, and could not afford to eat; broke, and could not afford provisions. But, dirty and backbreaking though it might be, it was work. And by George, the twenty dollars between them would make for a nice future poker stake for Heyes to work his magic at the card tables – in some cleaner, nicer, richer town than they now found themselves, of course. Thus, they shook to seal the deal and went with Bon to his ranch.

Now, never mind that Bon's place was in appearance no different than the town. However, they made good, and immediate, use of his wash tub, ate the offered victuals, drank the not-quite-better rot gut distilled on the premises, and bedded down that night in the barn on old hay and blankets, satiated and clean for that day and enjoying the rest before the dawn.

Before they took their rest, however, Bon regaled them with stories; his own, of course. How he and his brother had come West in the Forties along the Oregon Trail, only to find Oregon Territory too crowded for their liking. How they headed south to this piece of desert they claimed for their own, raising enough stock and crops to live on and then some, and somehow making a comfortable living on their piece of dry and dusty in the middle of nowhere. How his brother had married but lost his wife in childbirth, and had a son, who might just be around the same age as his guests. How his brother left to fight Mr. Lincoln's war, never to return. How Bon had raised his orphaned Nephew as his own. How the boy was smart, too smart for a Hedley (not that they were stupid), and left the dry, dusty ranch to read law in a bigger town too far away for an old man with an old mule and bum hip to visit. How Alban Hedley never thought his Uncle's place in the dry, dusty nowhere would amount to much, and said so, often. How Uncle Bon bet Alby that was not the case, although until recently he had wondered if he could ever win it. How he now thought he had that answer. How his young, whippersnapper guests played into that payout.

Inasmuch as Boniface Hedley was no saint, he was a fair man, and shrewd. As his guests raised brows in unison as to how he might win his bet on this dry, dusty piece of ground in the middle of nowhere, Bon said it was foolproof, important now, yes, but more the wave of the future. Another round of very perceptible, skeptical glances hastened his point – oil!

Oil?

Yes, oil. The water from his new well, dug just last year with money Alby sent when Uncle refused to leave the dry, dusty ranch in the middle of nowhere, had a funny taste and odor. It had been dug deeper than the old one to try to reach a suspected aquifer below the dry and dust, only to tap into an oil bed. Bon had not particularly wanted this new well; the old one still produced potable water, but he let Alby have his way. He hoped the young man would return if he did and keep the old Uncle company. Once he proved his point to Alby, to whom his young, whippersnapper guests would dutifully deliver a sample of the so-called black gold, the proceeds of the bet, fifty dollars, would be paid to Heyes and Curry (known to Bon, lest we forget, as Smith and Jones).

Thus, after the aforementioned good rest on not-quite-new and sweet-smelling hay and blankets in the barn, and a hearty breakfast of just-laid eggs, ham, biscuits, beans, and strong coffee, Heyes and Curry grabbed pick axes, shovels, and lanterns, and lowered themselves carefully into the new well. Wondering what situation they had gotten themselves entangled in now, they complained but a few moments, deciding it best to get the work done so they could get on their way. To that end, they worked diligently in the dimness for a few hours before reemerging, unrecognizable – white henleys, faces, indeed, their whole beings, black with grease and tar, but smiling. They held aloft the precious sample of oil, contained neatly in an old canning jar.

The old wash tub saw more use that second day; indeed, it spent the rest of the afternoon being filled and dumped, filled and dumped, with hot water, as two ex-outlaws on the hoped-for road to amnesty scrubbed themselves raw for hours with lye soap, attempting to rid every nook and cranny of the black gold, so-called.

Curry noted it didn't look like gold. It might be valuable but was no match for real gold, in looks at least.

Heyes smiled. It might be dirty but Bon was right that it was the future – more plentiful and cheaper than whale oil for lamps, not to mention burgeoning industry. They might get paid after all. If not, it was a memorable, though dirty, interruption in their hunt for good-paying work. One of the best parts, it was a fairly easy job; not too backbreaking.

Feasting on Bon's tasty cooking that night, the partners made ready to leave first thing in the morning, provisioned for the trail from Bon's ample stores, precious jar of oil safely tucked into saddlebags, and the promised twenty dollars in their pockets, along with a letter to Alby explaining everything and directing him to pay the fifty-dollar proceeds of the bet to Heyes and Curry. Bon was sure Alby would see his Uncle had won.

After a hearty breakfast and farewell to Bon, they hit the trail. Three days later they arrived in Alby's town, noting the name of the sheriff, which they as ex-outlaws with provisional amnesty but still with prices on their heads are wont to do. Unfortunately, they knew him, and more importantly, he them. Figuring to finish their errand as quickly as possible, they tried the second of two law offices and located Alban Hedley, for although the town was larger, cleaner, and greener, it was still of the mostly dry, dusty variety to which they were accustomed, and not really all that big.

At first skeptical of their story, Alby read the letter, and knowing his Uncle Bon's hand, accepted the boys as messengers from his kin. That he expressed surprise is perhaps an understatement, but he was not shocked, not really. Indeed, he had heard of oil strikes here and there in dry, dusty, out-of-the-way places, and had even once or twice thought about what might lay under his Uncle's vast nothingness of a ranch, if anything. The hoped-for conclusion was an aquifer, water to hydrate the dry, tamp down the dust, make the ranch in the middle of nowhere worth something more for his elderly kin. Oil was a bonus.

Two ex-outlaws listened to Alby's musings there in the law office for a short time, but interrupted to get to a point. They must make haste to meet another about a job in a distant place and needed to be paid.

Of course, and rightly so! But it was late in the afternoon on a Friday and the bank was closed. Please enjoy the town at Alby's expense until Monday morning, when the law clerk would be happy to withdraw the money and pay up. He heartily conceded his Uncle had won.

They reiterated their need to make haste. Could he borrow the money from someone so they might be on their way?

Unfortunately, not. No one he knew kept that much on hand. But he would be more than happy to give them six of the seven dollars in his pocket, given as to how he needed the extra dollar to see himself through the weekend, and he would forward the rest. They could trust him for it.

Needing to put daylight between them and the town lawman who knew them, they had no choice but to agree. Leaving a forwarding address to their own sheriff friend, they bade Alby goodbye and good luck. He bade them bonne chance.

They pulled their hats low over their eyes and nonchalantly rode out of town with no notice of the sheriff, and breathed a sigh of relief. Further employment awaited them here and there, backbreaking and dirty, or not, but was hard to come by. They kept themselves and their mounts sheltered and fed through Heyes' skill at the poker tables. As usual, Curry watched his partner's back.

Our two ex-outlaws later learned Alby did indeed return to the dry, dusty ranch in the middle of nowhere, both to oversee the start of the Hedley Oil Company and settle Uncle Bon in a bigger burg where he lived comfortably the rest of his days. No need to prove anything more to his Nephew. And Alby did continue his law studies, using his natural smarts and education to steer Hedley Oil to a prosperous future.

And just in case you're wondering, the last we checked, Heyes and Curry were still waiting for amnesty. But they did get paid.


End file.
